


warrior

by tealeafthief



Series: Good Omens ficlets [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bullying, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crying, Drinking, Fat Shaming, Hurt/Comfort, I hate Christmas with my family lol, Idiots in Love, M/M, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Really just a vent fic, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), There's a spongebob reference in there, light cussing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealeafthief/pseuds/tealeafthief
Summary: ((Timeline ambiguous))Aziraphale is invited to spend Christmas with his 'family', and ends up choosing the tiny family he found.--------------------------------------Basically, I hate spending Christmas with my family and having to just put up with the stuff they say to me every year! So I made this short lil fic for anyone else who has to deal with shitty families in the holiday times. We got through this one folks!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens ficlets [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1457629
Comments: 18
Kudos: 149





	warrior

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! 
> 
> This is just a quick one-shot I whipped together in between having to socialise with my family and quietly sit at the butt of gay jokes and digs on my appearance all evening (they've always made fun of how masculine and outwardly queer I look and dress, and I shaved my head at the beginning of November which hasn't helped lol) without trying to rock the boat.
> 
> As usual, fan fiction is an easy and harmless escape tool x
> 
> This might not even be that good, but writing it helped me stay sane! And now I'm going to enjoy a glass of rosé and watch The Muppet Christmas Carol again.
> 
> Happy Holidays y'all!

Aziraphale  _ loved  _ Christmas on Earth.

The whole holiday was teaming with good nature and kindness that hung in the air, like the lights and the adorable paper snowflakes that the children liked to make. The one day where everyone, even in London, stopped and smiled and wished each other merry. He loved the comfortable knitted jumpers, the sweet drinks, and even the silly music that played non-stop during the month of December.

And he hadn’t even gotten to the  _ food.  _

Roast potatoes, honey glazed carrots, Yorkshire pudding, treacle tarts, yule log, meringue, fruit cake, every year humans took the traditional elements of Christmas dinner and made it even better! Aziraphale always awaited December with his fork ready for whatever new creations they would come up with next.

Christmas in Heaven was a bit of a different matter.

They had been mingling in the white space of heaven since the morning of Christmas Day. There were no lights, no decorations, not even a tree. Just hundreds of angels milling around, in their pristine, light coloured outfits, occasionally being led in prayer by Michael or Uriel. Aziraphale felt shabby and underdressed in his usual attire, and if the staring was anything to go by, so did everyone else. He felt alien and isolated in such a sterile space.

There wasn’t even a spread. Not so much as a sprout.

“Ah, Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale flinched as a heavy hand grasped him on the shoulder. He turned sharply to see the Archangel Gabriel, smiling that sickly smile of his. Aziraphale did his best to reciprocate.

“Oh, Gabriel! Merry Christmas, so good to see you.” He lied.

“And you, Aziraphale, it’s been far too long.” Gabriel lied back. He squinted at the principality, keeping him trapped in his iron grip. “You look different…what is it, what have you changed?”

“Oh...well, I  _ did  _ start seeing a new barber, and I started using this  _ wonderful  _ moisturiser from this place in Neals Yard which feels lovely, or-” 

“No, no! I know what it is. You’ve put on weight!” Aziraphale stiffened as Gabriel reached out to poke at his soft stomach, trying to move backwards away from him. “I didn’t think you’d manage to get even bigger than when I last saw you! Still working through your little Gluttony habit, Aziraphale?” The Archangel laughed. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his stomach, feeling a sudden intoxicating desire to sink through the floor.

“Well, I-”

“His weight may have changed, but he didn’t think to change clothes.” A voice said from behind him. Aziraphale turned and saw the Archangel Michael heading towards him with that same fake smile. “Really, Aziraphale. You couldn’t have worn something a little nicer for the occasion?” She asked, wringing her nose as she took him in.

“I mean...well, this is my best waistcoat! I always love to wear it at Christmas.” Aziraphale insisted. The waistcoat in question was embroidered with a red berry pattern that he thought made it  _ very  _ festive. At the time, he had bought it with Crowley in mind. Red things always reminded him of Crowley. Michael sighed, as if she were dealing with a particularly stubborn child.

“It may very well  _ be  _ your best waistcoat, Aziraphale, but frankly you have unlimited finances on earth to at least make a bit of an effort in how you look.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “You hardly look part of the heavenly host, with that ridiculous costume piece stretched over your corperation.” 

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed uncomfortably warm and he looked away from the Archangels invasive eyes. Gabriel laughed and clapped him on the shoulder again. 

“Oh come on, Aziraphale! Just a little light teasing is all! Now, why don’t you go change into something a little more appropriate, and then you can come back to join us?” Gabriel advised, pushing him away with a little more force than was really necessary. Aziraphale stumbled back, accidentally bumping into a few other angels who were in conversation.

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to, I...I’ll go home and change then.” Aziraphale stammered out, avoiding eye contact and praying his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. As he walked by the angels he had bumped into, he heard them whispering to each other.

“Isn’t that the Principality Aziraphale?”

“Yeah, he’s the one with the flaming sword, supposed to be some mighty warrior. Doesn’t look like it, though.”

He managed to make it to the escalator back down before he let himself start to softly cry.

Stupid,  _ stupid  _ idea to turn up, and even more stupid thing to cry over. He just felt so hollow, and lonely. He wondered how Crowley had chosen to spend his Christmas. He hadn’t wanted Aziraphale to go, he had wanted them to spend Christmas together, and he had blown him off. He wiped his nose against the sleeve of his coat, hoping no one could see him.

Once he was outside, he miracled himself back to the bookshop. Usually he preferred to walk,  _ especially  _ at Christmas when he could take in the lights and decorations and hopefully come across some carollers, but he felt a hair's-breadth from sobbing as it was. The last thing he needed was to go back up to Heaven with red, puffy eyes. 

He arrived at his walk-in wardrobe, spilling over with garments he’d worn and kept in the best condition he could for years and years. He had no real idea what Heaven  _ wanted  _ from him. All his waistcoats suddenly seemed audacious and childish, worn around the edges from age and heavy use. And all large.

He turned to the full length mirror, and took in his reflection. He had never given much thought to his appearance before. He could see now, the way his stomach curved out, how it showed on his face, in his thighs. He took off his waistcoat, letting it slide off, not taking his eyes off of his body. The body of a warrior.

_ “Doesn’t look like it, though.” _

His hand flew up to his mouth to stifle a whimper, as more tears came to his eyes unbidden.

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid… _

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale spun around in surprise, quickly wiping away his tears to face the voice. In the entrance to the wardrobe stood Crowly, half slumped over with a glass of wine in one hand. He was dressed down, in a soft, cotton black shirt and skinny jeans, his long red hair in a messy half ponytail and his sunglasses nowhere to be seen, so Aziraphale could see the concern in his eyes.

“Crowley! What on earth are you doing here? I told you I would be in Heaven today.” He cried out, doing his very best to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah, I know.” He replied, his speech a little slurred as he took a swig from the wine-glass.

“So what are you doing here? Didn’t you have any plans?”

“Nah, not without you in them.”

“Well...what do you usually do? When I’m in Heaven?”

“Wait for you to get back. What are  _ you  _ doing here?” Crowley countered, his eyes scrunched in thought. “Thought you were spending all day up there, what brought you back?” 

Aziraphale sighed, and turned back to the rail of waistcoats, looking for something plain, unembellished. “My clothes were...deemed inappropriate for the occasion, and I was politely advised to go home and change before I return to the function.” He parroted flatly.

“What? I thought you wore your Christmas waistcoat, you love wearing this in December! It’s got berries on it!” Crowley responded indignantly, swiping down to pick it up the waistcoat with his free hand, rubbing his thumb over the embroidery.

“It’s unbecoming of a servant of the almighty, Crowley. All of me is, apparently, but I think they only expect me to change the waistcoat.” He responded tersely, flicking through his wardrobe. Why was  _ everything  _ he owned so bright? He could just miracle a plain waistcoat, but he hated the way they felt. There was no love in something made from nothing.

“Aziraphale…” Aziraphale felt a shift in Crowley’s aura, indicating he had miracled himself sober. “What are you talking about?” Aziraphale felt like a deer caught in headlights, with Crowley staring into his back.

“My...my waistcoat. I need to change my waistcoat.” He stammered out, turning to walk past Crowley. He stopped him with a hand on his wrist, snapping his wine glass out of existence. 

“Aziraphale, what did they say to you?”

“Nothing, I need to change.”

“ _ Aziraphale. _ ”

“They said I was too fat!”

“...What?”

The floodgates opened. Crowley pulled him towards his chest, wrapping both arms around him and rocking him gently, pressing kisses into his hair. Aziraphale could feel the anger and confusion in his aura, could vaguely hear him murmuring questions and comforts over his own pathetic crying. He owed him an explanation. 

“G-Gabriel...he said I’d gotten b-bigger...that I have a Gluttony problem, a-a-and then Michael came and said my waistcoat looked ridiculous stretched over my stomach, oh-” He took a breath to try and compose himself, sinking deeper into Crowley’s embrace. “They said I-I-I should change into something m-more 'appropriate’ and then pushed me away, and these two other angels, they were talking about me. One of them said that I’m a warrior, which technically I am, and then the other one said I didn’t  _ look  _ like one, and I felt so  _ awful _ …” He trailed off, unable to say anything else, just trying to get in enough air so his sobs didn’t choke him.

“Bloody  _ bastards. _ ” Crowley hissed, his arm muscles tensing protectively around his angel. “Angel, don’t listen to a word they say, they’re all idiots.”

“But it’s  _ true _ !” Aziraphale insisted, “I  _ am  _ fat, and I  _ do  _ like to eat-”

“-and there is absolutely nothing wrong with either of those facts! Aziraphale, your passion for food is  _ beautiful,  _ and  _ you’re  _ beautiful! Fuck them for making you think otherwise.” Crowley countered, and Aziraphale could  _ feel  _ how hard he was trying to stay calm. Crowley gently pulled away from the hug, and wiped away the remaining tears from Aziraphale’s face. He held out Aziraphale’s waistcoat, still clutched tightly (and miraculously uncreased) in his fist, and gently put it back onto his angels soft frame, grinning ear to ear. “There you go. Christmassy and costumey and  _ perfect. _ ” Aziraphale smiled, rubbing his thumb in smoothing circles over the material of the waistcoat. 

“Crowley…what would we have done? Today, if I hadn’t gone to Heaven, what would we have done together?” He asked, his voice still a little hoarse, as he took Crowley’s hand again. Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“I had a little plan. Nothing big, just a little get together. Just you, me, and a bottle of wine. Not too late. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking they’re hardly going to miss me up in Heaven today. What was your plan?” Crowley grinned wolfishly, and pulled Aziraphale in for another soft hug, kissing his cheek.

“Well,  _ first  _ of all, we’re getting dressed into whatever the  _ fuck  _ we want,” Crowley started, registering Aziraphale’s giggle, “then we’re putting on your favourite Christmassy film-”

“The Muppet Christmas Carol, obviously.”

“Of course, obviously. We’ll sit on the sofa together, I’m probably going to end up on your lap, we’ll probably kiss and we’ll  _ definitely  _ drink. Then right around The Ghost Of Christmas Present I’ll miracle up a  _ buffet  _ from the kitchens of the Ritz,  _ very  _ dastardly of me if I do say so myself, and we will eat as much as we damn well please, and those  _ wankwings  _ won’t have anything to say about it.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished, but he didn’t have the heart to sound even remotely serious.

“And  _ then, _ ” Crowley continued as if he hadn’t heard him, “once the movie is over, and Scrooge gets that tiny, shitty scarf and the credits roll, I’m going to take off that beautiful waistcoat, and everything else you’ve got on, so that I can get a good look at my beautiful angel, and worship his beautiful  _ warriors  _ body. How does that sound to you?” Aziraphale pretended to think about it, leaning in to kiss him again.

“A little blasphemous, isn’t it? Worshiping my corporation on  _ Christmas Day _ .”

“Oh, bugger that. It’s not even his actual birthday today anyways. You’re worth a little blasphemy, angel.” Aziraphale grinned even wider.

“Merry Christmas, Crowley.”

“Merry Christmas, Aziraphale.”


End file.
